THE GREATEST BETRAYAL: A romantic thriller with a shocking twist, page 1
THE
GREATEST
BETRAYAL
A romantic thriller with a shocking twist
IAIN HENN
Published by
THE BOOK FOLKS
London, 2023
© Iain Henn
Polite note to the reader
This book is written in Australian English except where fidelity to other languages or accents is appropriate.
This book was previously published as “Obsessive” in 2018.
You are invited to visit www.thebookfolks.com and sign up to our mailing list to hear about new releases, free book promotions and other special offers.
We hope you enjoy the book.
For my wife and our family.
Contents
PROLOGUE
ONE
TWO
THREE
FOUR
FIVE
SIX
SEVEN
EIGHT
NINE
TEN
ELEVEN
TWELVE
THIRTEEN
FOURTEEN
FIFTEEN
SIXTEEN
SEVENTEEN
EIGHTEEN
NINETEEN
TWENTY
TWENTY-ONE
TWENTY-TWO
TWENTY-THREE
TWENTY-FOUR
TWENTY-FIVE
TWENTY-SIX
TWENTY-SEVEN
TWENTY-EIGHT
TWENTY-NINE
THIRTY
THIRTY-ONE
THIRTY-TWO
THIRTY-THREE
THIRTY-FOUR
THIRTY-FIVE
THIRTY-SIX
THIRTY-SEVEN
THIRTY-EIGHT
THIRTY-NINE
FORTY
FORTY-ONE
FORTY-TWO
FORTY-THREE
FORTY-FOUR
FORTY-FIVE
FORTY-SIX
FORTY-SEVEN
FORTY-EIGHT
FORTY-NINE
FIFTY
FIFTY-ONE
FIFTY-TWO
FIFTY-THREE
FIFTY-FOUR
FIFTY-FIVE
FIFTY-SIX
FIFTY-SEVEN
FIFTY-EIGHT
FIFTY-NINE
SIXTY
SIXTY-ONE
SIXTY-TWO
SIXTY-THREE
SIXTY-FOUR
SIXTY-FIVE
SIXTY-SIX
SIXTY-SEVEN
SIXTY-EIGHT
SIXTY-NINE
SEVENTY
SEVENTY-ONE
SEVENTY-TWO
SEVENTY-THREE
SEVENTY-FOUR
SEVENTY-FIVE
SEVENTY-SIX
SEVENTY-SEVEN
SEVENTY-EIGHT
SEVENTY-NINE
EIGHTY
EIGHTY-ONE
EIGHTY-TWO
EIGHTY-THREE
EIGHTY-FOUR
EIGHTY-FIVE
EIGHTY-SIX
EIGHTY-SEVEN
EIGHTY-EIGHT
EIGHTY-NINE
NINETY
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PROLOGUE
There is a bird that sounds like a woman screaming.
Liz Carter first heard that cry when she was ten years old and staying on her grandparents’ rambling farm. She had imagined a lost soul wandering in the dark, and the thought chilled her. Now alone and on the other side of the world, she thought of the curlew’s eerie wail as she crashed through the thick foliage of prehistoric-looking ferns. She sighted a very different bird, a vulture that was perched on a low-hanging branch just ahead. The bird of prey flapped its wings as it lifted off the branch and soared away among the towering pines.
From the dense woodland behind her, Liz heard the crunch of the pine needles that covered the forest floor as her pursuers closed in. Enraged, relentless, murderous.
She was short of breath, her pulse pounding in her temples as she pushed forward. The sloping ground was rough and uneven and when she fell, she fell hard, gouging her knee. Covered in scratches from the shrubs and clad only in underwear, she clutched a bloodied branch, her feet stinging from the spiky undergrowth.
The birds of prey that hunted her were armed and ready to kill. She was everything they despised, and her very existence was now the greatest threat to their way of life, to everything they had, and they would never allow her to bring them down.
She pushed herself back to her feet, adrenaline pumping and clouding the pain, and she ran, sweat running in rivulets into her eyes.
No matter how fast she ran, the crashing sounds behind her became closer, louder.
I can’t outrun them.
She stumbled on a stone and her foot slipped out from beneath her. She hit the ground again, pain searing through her ankle. She thought of her baby son and the man she loved and the thought of never seeing them again was like a spear through her heart. Terror consumed her.
And then she caught a glimpse through the trees of dark shapes in the distance, revealed by the filtered shafts of dim light. Her executioners.
Just minutes away.
ONE
Two years earlier
Sheets of rain were driven across the tarmac of Kingsford Smith International by a brisk wind.
Sharing an umbrella as they dashed across the open ground were Liz Carter and Trans Pacific Air’s new marketing manager, Martin de Courcey. Another hectic moment in a week that had been a whirlwind for Liz.
She’d had many discussions with senior managerial staff at TPA about their airline, the state of the aviation industry, and their future plans, always in the company of Martin.
With his own piloting days behind him, Martin had gravitated to the marketing role with ease. He was energetic, still passionate about aviation, more debonair now than he’d probably been in his youth, and his finger was always on the pulse of everything happening.
Liz liked Martin. He was a little frenetic and inclined towards the dramatic, but he certainly kept everyone’s adrenaline flowing. He hadn’t chosen the best day to take her on a tour of the airport’s operations, but Martin de Courcey wasn’t someone who changed his momentum to suit the weather. And this was the first operating day of her new agency, the first day TPA was officially her client.
The umbrella came down as they entered Hangar Number Five. It seemed to Liz a cast of thousands was buzzing around the metallic giant, catering to its every whim: maintenance men, technicians, flight engineers, servicing its mammoth appetite for safety, fuelling, checks and double checks.
Back in Martin’s office later in the day, Liz savoured a hot cup of coffee and watched the rain beating against the window that normally afforded a grand view of the bustling, big city, Sydney airport.
‘Your window on the world is temporarily out of order,’ Liz said as she brushed a single strand of her blonde hair away from her face.
‘Now there’s a line with some pizzazz,’ Martin said. ‘You say we need an integrated PR and ad campaign with a central message.’
‘Absolutely.’
‘One big, single corporate idea, like the great ad campaigns of the seventies and eighties. That “window” thing, maybe that’s it.’
‘Maybe,’ said Liz.
‘I remember some of those campaigns. Those brands – airlines and cars and petrol companies – became iconic. Of course, that was all before your time, young lady.’
‘All the more reason it’s due for a comeback,’ said Liz. ‘The trick is to make your name synonymous with the product.’
‘Just like McDonalds when you think of fast food.’
‘Exactly.’
After leaving Martin’s office, Liz waited for the elevator. When it arrived, a tall, dark-haired man in an airline captain’s uniform came out impatiently, colliding with her.
‘My apologies,’ he said, a twinkle in his sky-blue eyes. ‘Wasn’t intentional.’
‘So, sometimes you intentionally collide with young women?’
‘Not when I’m on the job.’ A wide, warm smile spread across his face. He offered his hand. ‘My friends call me Mac.’
‘And what does everyone else call you?’
‘Mac.’
She returned the smile as she took his hand. ‘Then I guess it’s Mac.’
‘I haven’t seen you around here. New to the cause?’
‘Visiting. I’ll be helping with some promotion for the company.’
‘Ah, that’s why you’re here. To see our salubrious marketing manager.’
‘Yes,’ said Liz. ‘So, you can be observant.’
Mac laughed. ‘I can.’ He tipped his pilot’s cap as he headed towards Martin’s office.
The elevator had left without her, so Liz re-pressed the button and waited. She didn’t look back at the airline pilot as he headed down the corridor, but his brilliant blue eyes, chiselled cheekbones, and wide, winning smile stayed firmly in her mind.
A handsome airline pilot named Mac.
The idea came to her in an instant.
Captain Mac of TPA.
Personality, charm, and worldwide travel. Harking back to the glamorous twentieth-century era of America’s Pan Am.
His window is your window on the world.
* * *
> Liz drove out of the parking station and onto the busy main thoroughfare that ran in a loop around the front of the airport.
The traffic was almost at a standstill, inching forward at a snail’s pace. The rain had eased back but was still constant. The window wipers swished back and forth, someone tooted a horn and Liz’s attention was drawn to the opposite side of the road, just a few car lengths ahead. A car was stopped in the middle of the road, its front doors open. Beside it, a man and a woman were in a heated discussion, the woman’s hand clasping that of a small child who couldn’t have been more than two years old. The child was crying.
Suddenly, in one swift, vicious move, the man pushed the woman over with one hand while using his other to grab hold of the child. He pushed the child into the passenger seat, slammed the door closed and within seconds was behind the wheel, screeching away, the road on his side clear of the heavy traffic.
The woman got back on her feet, screaming.
Looking back on it later, Liz didn’t recall what her thought process might’ve been. She’d simply reacted.
Instinctively she spun the wheel, pulling her car out onto the opposite side of the road, and making a U-turn, narrowly avoiding an oncoming vehicle that screeched to a stop with little room to spare.
What on earth am I doing?
Her eyes fixed on the kidnapper’s vehicle, she followed.
TWO
How could anyone snatch a child like that? In plain sight, out in the open. Terrifying the helpless child. And the impact on a mother; unbelievable fear. What kind of person…?
Liz’s mind whirled.
The car in front sped up, driving recklessly.
Liz wanted to scream out, “There’s a child on board, you moron. The streets are slippery. There’s traffic everywhere.”
She pressed on the accelerator, keeping pace.
With one hand on the steering wheel, she took hold of her phone with the other and called the emergency number, then she pressed “Speaker” and placed the phone on the seat beside her.
She listened to the ringtone.
Answer, damn it.
The car in front weaved in and out of traffic and Liz could imagine the child in the passenger seat, crying. There hadn’t even been time to strap on the child’s seat belt.
She pulled out in front of another car, desperate to keep the fleeing vehicle within sight. Horns blared.
A woman’s voice came on the line. ‘What is your emergency?’
Liz blurted out what she’d witnessed, and how she was trying the keep the other car in sight.
‘Do you know where you are now?’ asked the operator.
Liz knew the area well enough to give an accurate description. It was one of the main roads in the inner-city suburb of Alexandria.
‘I think he’s heading for the freeway,’ Liz said.
‘Stay on the line,’ the operator said.
Liz’s hands were shaking. She gripped the steering wheel tighter in an effort to steady them.
Focus, girl.
She wasn’t certain how long it had been – it seemed like forever and they were on the multi-lane highway now – when the first of the police cars, its siren blaring, came up in the lane alongside her. And then, as it came adjacent to the fleeing vehicle in front, she heard the police vehicle’s loudspeaker ordering the driver to pull over.
Another police patrol car flashed by alongside her and she pulled back on her speed, allowing that car to take up a position directly behind the kidnapper.
Thank God, they’re here.
Liz didn’t need to stay there now, she’d kept track of the abductor’s position until the police had intercepted him. But she couldn’t leave. For her own peace of mind, she had to know the child was safe. Another vehicle came flashing by, this one was a Channel 0 news van. Liz was reminded of that famous chase on a US highway, over twenty years before, when police cars and news crews had followed OJ Simpson and the riveting scenes had been broadcast live.
That chase had gone on for hours.
She slowed as she saw the car ahead pull over to the side of the freeway. The police surrounded it and the man stepped from the vehicle, hands in the air. Liz pulled over and got out of the car. She was worried about the little boy but before she moved forward, she saw a policewoman open the passenger-side door and take the child in her arms.
Liz breathed a sigh of relief.
Poor kid.
Before she could get back in her car there was a newsman and a cameraman in her face.
‘Are you the lady who called emergency while giving chase?’ the newsman asked.
THREE
Later, when she entered her apartment, Liz stood for a moment and gazed at the photo of herself, aged eight, with her mother and her father. It was moments like this she realised how much she missed them, and how much of a good, decent, loving man her father had been.
She switched on the TV and the late-night news carried the story. Scenes of the car chase and the police apprehending the vehicle; the reporter on-air relaying the events; and a snippet of Liz herself, being interviewed at the scene.
‘What was going through your mind when you gave chase?’ the reporter asked.
‘I didn’t really think about it,’ Liz said. ‘I just reacted. It seemed like the right action to take.’
‘And it was a very heroic action,’ the newsman said.
Liz smiled. ‘Oh, I don’t think so, anyone would have done the same thing.’
‘Most people probably wouldn’t have,’ the reporter said.
She learned from the report the kidnapper had been the boy’s father. The mother had court-awarded custody and the father was angry at the decision. The woman and her son had just arrived back in Sydney after visiting her family in Melbourne. She hadn’t expected her estranged husband to be at the airport. He’d intended to take off to somewhere unknown with the boy.
Liz’s phone rang. She glanced at the caller ID and saw it was Martin de Courcey.
‘Liz, I just saw you interviewed on the news. Are you okay?’
‘I’m fine. I didn’t exactly get my full fifteen minutes though, did I?’
‘One hell of a first day in your new business venture,’ Martin said.
‘That’s putting it mildly.’
‘Make sure you look after yourself.’
‘I will.’
‘An experience like that is nerve-wracking even if you’re not feeling it right now. I know you’re just getting your agency started but taking one day to rest up won’t affect anything–’
‘Not a chance,’ said Liz. ‘Too much to do. And, Martin?’
‘Yes?’
‘I ran into a tall, dark, handsome stranger leaving your office today.’
‘And who was that?’
‘An airline pilot friend of yours.’
‘Oh. Callan McKenzie.’
‘Why don’t you arrange a meeting?’
‘You’re interested in him? Can’t say I blame you.’
‘Nothing like that. This is business.’
‘Business?’
‘I’ve got an idea I’d like to run by you.’
‘If you insist on working tomorrow then drop by and tell me about it. Then we can arrange this meeting with Mac. Maybe a dinner at my place?’
‘Okay, you’re the boss.’
Martin laughed. ‘No. I may be the client but you’re well and truly the boss. I think today’s events showed that quite clearly.’
FOUR
The campaign broke on a Sunday, with full-page ads in the weekend newspapers and banner ads across the major news websites. There were radio spots, and sixty-second prime-time TV commercials with a specially composed James Bond-style theme. The objective was to present a glamorous, youthful, trendsetting image of Trans Pacific Air and its staff, with affordability and a diverse range of destinations as key selling points. But mostly, it was about Captain Mac.
In a PR coup, Liz had arranged several articles and interviews with Mac in the main media, positioned to capture Mac’s down-to-earth charm, his aspirations, his love of travel, his boy-next-door accessibility.
The campaign’s launch party kicked off on a Sunday evening at the Mercury International Hotel, in the Rocks district alongside Sydney Harbour. As he arrived at the party, Mac wondered how he’d allowed himself to be talked into this whole damn thing. He knew the answer, of course, and her name was Liz Carter.
Mac had initially been dubious about the whole idea when Martin raised it at the dinner Mac had attended with Martin and Liz.
‘How would you feel about being the face of a national promotional campaign for TPA?’ Martin said to Mac.
